


Brave, and Cunning, and Wise

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [422]
Category: Thunderbirds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 02:33:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9362141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: anon requested: can you write brotherly moment with Scott and Alan?





	

When everyone else is out on a mission, Alan notices how big the island is.  Grandma’s back in Kansas, visiting relatives the rest of them forget they have.

Technically, Brains is also here, but he’s buried himself so deep in his designs that Alan can let himself imagine he’s the last man on earth.  His school work is left on the bench as Alan stuffs snacks into a backpack and heads out to explore.

In his head, he lets himself play out an old fantasy – world famous explorer, cunning and wise and brave, beating a path through the jungle for fame and fortune and treasures beyond measure.  

It lets him ignore, just for a little longer, that once again he’s been left behind.

He’s all the way down on the southern beach when he hears the roar of One overhead, catches the taste of exhaust as the Thunderbird reorientates itself for final approach.  Alan shades his eyes from the sun, thinks he catches a glimpse of Scott, waving.

But possibly not.  One’s re-entry was as complex as Three’s, and Alan doubts Scott would have attention left to spot his little brother, just a speck standing on the beach.

Alan keeps watching until the nose cone of One slips away from view below the trees before he continues on.  There were some old huts set up on the shore, and Alan still didn’t know where they had come from or why they were there.

It certainly seemed a fitting target for an explorer who was cunning and wise and brave. It’s an easy hike along the short and up the faded path to the first of the huts.

Someone used to come here, he realizes, but not in a very long time.

There’s nothing inside except the faint smell of birds and dust.  Alan tries to keep the fantasy going, but soon enough his imagination falters and he wanders out and drops to the grass on the edge of the low cliff overlooking the rocky spit that marked the bays.

He wasn’t surprised when he heard boots clomping down the hill path.  Alan flops backwards, his head landing on his pack, to look up at Scott.

He’s changed into his civvies, at least, so probably not expecting another call out today.  “Pull up some grass,” Alan quips, feeling the gentle strain in his neck as he tries to to gauge Scott’s expression without getting up.

As Scott settles down slowly next to him,  Alan rolls onto his side, getting comfortable on his makeshift pillow.  There’s a stiffness to the way Scott moves lately that Alan is trying not to notice.  “Good rescue?”

Scott’s eyes are fixed on some point beyond the horizon.  “All hands accounted for,” he says easily as he leans back, his hands combing through the grass.  “No school today?”

Alan shrugs.  “I declare term break when grandma’s not around.”

That gets a small chuckle out of Scott. “Fair enough,” he murmurs, and Alan feels his eyebrow lift slightly.  He had expected more of a fight.  “So what are you doing out here?”

Alan feels weird lying down, looking at the seam on Scott’s pocket, and so he sits up in a slow, liquid roll of joints.  “Just poking around.  Why are these huts here?”

Scott looks over his shoulder, like he needed to be reminded were they were.  “I think dad made them,” he says at last, unsure.  “I used to come down here,” he adds with another little shrug.  “Used to drag John and Virgil with me.  We played all day down here.”

“Really?” Alan asks.  He can’t picture his older brothers running around, playing cops and robbers.  In his head, they’ve always been the serious, responsible ones. They’ve always been adults, or near enough as to make no difference.

Scott glances over, reaches out to ruffle Alan’s hair.  “Yeah.  Dad was busy digging out the hangars, so we used to amuse ourselves.  The only thing we could agree to play was Indiana Jones.” Scott tilts his  head. “Have we shown you that movie?”  Alan shakes his head and Scott sighs softly.  “Well, we’ve been remiss.  Guess what we’re doing tonight.”

“Movie night. Cool,” Alan kicks his legs out in front of him, stretches easily to touch his toes.

He can feel Scott’s eyes on him.  “Have you found the trapdoor?” Scott asks slyly, and Alan’s head whips around.

“Trapdoor? Where?”

Scott’s going gray at the temples, and Alan hates to notice that too, but it’s hard to miss when Scott rubs a palm up over his face, throwing the fading colour into sharp relief.  “That information, brave explorer, will cost you one snack.  Come on, I know you’ve got the goods in that bag, and I’m starving.”

Alan digs out a chocolate bar. Scott catches it with one hand.  He clamps onto the corner of the bright wrapper with his teeth, leaving his hands free to push himself up.  “Come on,” he says, ripping open the package.  “Let me induct you into this secret of the island.”  

Swinging his pack onto his back, Alan ran after Scott back up the slope. 


End file.
